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Entranced. I’ve been trying to think of that word all day and as soon as I put my cursor to the text box it came out of my fingers like diarrhea. (Sorry for using the D-word but really there’s no other way to describe it. Suggestions are welcome.)

I’ve been entranced by so many things recently in the most heavenly way. I’ve realized that once you make up your mind that something is beautiful there’s no turning back (NB: this does not apply to ex boyfriends who become forever ugly about 6 months post-breakup).Once you find something that makes your insides feel like they’re taking part in the final scene of Dirty Dancing, the more you surround yourself with those things – the more you’re being lifted in the air by Patrick Swayze.

For me those things currently include the sunlight right before the sun begins to set, the feeling I get post-gym but pre-Snickers and flowers, any and all flowers, amongst other things. Hence, I was completely and undoubtedly entranced during my 4:30pm ‘scenic route’ drive home from the gym today. Filled with wonder and delight, my surroundings holding my entire attention. How did I not crash my car?

The sun was sad to go last Friday. She took her sweet time getting outta here – showing off a bit on her way out. I was also sad for the sun to go. I wasn’t quite done with my week. We only get two days off of real life per week – shouldn’t we be able to decide when we want them? I have no idea who decided the logistics of the whole weekend thing. Who decided only two days? Who decided that we wait precisely five days before we get them? Who decided that Saturday should have the audacity to have one more syllable than every other day? And who gave this mysterious person the right to make all of these decisions on my behalf? (I know there are actual answers to the majority of these questions but I am not interested in them)

AKA I did nothing Friday night.

Saturday & Sunday, on the other hand, were beautiful. No couch-traveling was done this weekend as we, instead, lapped up the gifts of home. Blue skies, white sands and other cliches we usually take for granted were embraced and 300 episodes of Drugs Inc. were watched (I’m basically part of the D.E.A.).

One thing that I continually notice is how the way you approach the same experience drastically changes as you get older. It’s only obvious that you won’t have the same reaction to or appreciation for something when you’re 9 as you do when you’re 13, or then as you do when you’re 20.

For example, on Saturday morning we (somehow/magically/apparently/not sure if this really happened) took a walk through Bridgetown, Barbados’ capital. It involves busy streets, window displays, beautiful architecture, multiple Chefettes (you must understand its beauty if you’re going to truly envision this scene I’m painting for you), history and snow cones. However, when I was 8 a trip to town meant my mother was going to make me put on my sneakers and hold her hand for four hours. It involved very loud noises, dirty bathrooms and, sometimes, a pack of Pokemon cards if I went the whole day without hiding from her and thinking it was funny. It pretty much still involves all of these things except instead of Pokemon cards I get a fun new water bottle. However, something I used to dread to my core now gets me more excited than most things. I no longer tell my mother I’m going to jump in the Careenage and swim home if we don’t leave in 30 seconds but, instead, pose for pictures next to it.

And Sunday mornings are less about the fact that there’s nothing good on TV (because “One Saturday Morning” only came on ABC on Saturdays for obvious reasons that were not obvious when I was 5) or that I haven’t done any homework all weekend and it’s due tomorrow (even though it should still be very much about this but I’ve decided I take school off on weekends) and is more about the fact that I know how to make crepes. And I know how to eat them. And crepes are yummy.

They’re also about relaxing; and isn’t it so wonderful that we enjoy relaxing?! When I was 10 I hated “relaxing”… and naps, and sweet potatoes and the news. All things that are now in my top ten wonders of life.

So for a few minutes this weekend I thought about how maybe it’s a great thing that I’ve gotten older because there are things I enjoy now that I wouldn’t then…

…But then I thought about jumping into a pile of Beanie Babies while listening to “If You Wanna Be My Lover” and sucking on a ring pop and telling my friends that if they don’t come over they won’t be invited to my birthday party and I realized that no. While 20 is beautiful because with it comes an appreciation and an understanding of things around you, it doesn’t compare to jumping into a pile of Beanie Babies.

Another week in paradise has zoomed by. I have to admit I’m a lover of Thursdays. On Thursdays you feel the excitement of being so close to the weekend (tomorrow’s Friday!) but with zero of the high expectations that come with them (it’s Friday – why am I at home? Why does no one love me?). As a result, I can happily (tomorrow’s Friday!) sit here with my Contract Law textbook and blog-fingers without any remorse for my sorrowful social life. I save that bad boy for tomorrow.

I have been so busy doing nothing (i.e. too busy doing things that aren’t interesting enough to blog about) to find time to blog. Although I had a beautiful weekend my camera was MIA and we all know that a blog without pictures becomes a blah-g.

I have a constant fear of FOMO (“fear of missing out” for anyone not fluent in unnecessary, hip abbreviations) and Friday nights tend to be a trigger. Last Friday we last-minute decided to become un-kept up with the Kardashians and, instead, have a nice, long-as-possible dinner at Mama Mia Italian Deli.

Mama Mia’s has always been a favourite of mine, mainly because it is entirely charming and also very yummy (and Italian). However, it became instantly obvious on our arrival that Mama has really stepped her game up! It is now Mama’s 2.0 and as fabulous as ever. The menu has gone from a 15 page dilemma for someone like me who has issues deciding what colour highlighter to use to a precise few pages of pure deliciousness, the walls and the colours are revamped and (unknown until after dinner) its website, Facebook page and social media are on fire.

The waiter was lovely, food fantastic & atmosphere to die for (the wine/mojito combination may or may not have enriched my experience). If you’re here and you’ve never been – go! If you have – go again (it’s Mama 2.0)!

Saturday began as seen above but ended quite differently. I am grateful that at 20 years old I can celebrate a new holiday for the very first time because that means there are always “firsts” to look forward to. Apparently that’s the type of thing you say on Thanksgiving, which we celebrated on Saturday. I still know nothing about this holiday except that there’s a turkey involved, that same-said turkey takes very long to cook, and that it made me feel fuzzy inside. During the day I pealed potatoes, drank tea and smelt pies and at night I drank too much wine, spent time with lovely people and ate pies. Overall, I’d say Canada at Thanksgiving is a pretty alright place and I’d be quite happy to return this time next year.

That just about wraps up last weekend’s travels. This weekend’s itinerary is empty so far but, hopefully, somewhere exciting falls in my lap.

Now comes the post you can only ever do once a year — the good old birthday post.

20 is a big deal… right? That’s what I’ve heard anyways. However, I’ve decided that (due to uncontrollable attachments to my youth) I’m going to adopt the age twenteen until I grow mature enough to leave the beloved suffix behind (if that ever happens). And, in keeping with the theme of savoring my teens, I surely had a wonderful last weekend as one…

Being Stranded on an Island RULE NO.1: Since you can’t actually leave, pretend to as often as possible.

Rule #1 is far-stretching and ambiguous. This is because everyone’s couch-travelling itinerary will differ with the insertion of different variables. These variables include: time, cash and energy (one or two sometimes interchangeable with luck). For example:

medium time + little cash + little energy = watching a movie that takes you to the destination of your choice (think a night in Paris, Cannes and the French countryside via Meg Ryan’s French Kiss)

A stay-cation is the ultimate at-home-get-away and usually involves the ultimate equation: high degrees of every variable. However, last weekend we were fortunate enough to replace the high volume of cash usually required with a good set of luck.

a picturesque golf course view at Royal Westmoreland, Barbados

That equation added up to a weekend at the glamorous Royal Westmoreland. Westmoreland can be found on the top of St. James on the West Coast of the island and is known world wide for its topnotch golf course and star-studded villa owners. Although we (young couple celebrating a 20th birthday) did not fit into the its usual clientele, we definitely had no problem pretending that we did. Lunch at the Club House, being dragged around the golf course (I had to wear a collared shirt) and a beautiful place to sleep really didn’t leave me with much to complain about (which is actually a miracle in itself). It was the ideal setting for us to become tourists in our home for a quick little weekend doing all the things you should always do when you visit somewhere new:

DVD players that don’t play burnt DVD’s, coke in a can, Julia Robert’s cravings, $5 for a rental, popcorn on the stove.

If I stumble upon any one of those four type of days on a weekend it automatically becomes a fabulous weekend. So imagine my glee when I happened to have all four in one. My birthday weekend managed to tick off every requirement on the perfect, well-rounded, made-in-heaven weekend check list and from now on weekends will never be the same.

I’m not sure yet if that’s because I’ve gotten a taste of magical-weekend-pie and all others will now be pathetic in comparison or if it’s because I’m no longer a teenager and now my weekends will be filled with responsibility and cleaning. I guess we’ll have to find out.

I tend to be full of phrases that begin with: “One weekend we should so…” But that’s as far as my elaborate plans usually go. I think I more enjoy exciting words coming out of my mouth than I do actually executing exciting things (but that’s another post on its own).

So a couple months ago I had the grand idea of forcing myself to execute these ideas. (I got the inspiration from somewhere on the net and I would send you over there right now if I had any idea how to re-find it.)

I wrote each forever-lovely adventure idea on a popsicle stick and stuck them all in a jar. Each weekend we’d pull one out and have no choice but to begin a new adventure.

Last weekend, after two months of dust-collecting, the jar received its first visit and we pulled our first adventure:

Not impressed. As good of an idea as this seemed at the time of its conception, I know that waking up at 5 am is just not fun. Hence why I would never actually do it… unless a popsicle stick told me to.

Saturday morning the alarms went off at 5am and after a few minutes of should we actually get up‘s we decided that the popsicle’s word was law and if we didn’t wake up we were officially not fun. We skipped coffee (something one should never do) and headed out on a journey to the East Coast where we could actually see the sun wake up. Island life comes in handy at times like this where we can get from the West Coast to the East in 15 minutes. Being on the West Coast we’re blessed with beautiful sunsets every day but that means that sunrises are not our specialty. Unaware of the logistics of it all, seeing that the sky had become a much lighter shade of black we decided the sun had already risen. We sat in the car on the top of a hill and looked over the East Coast…

The world was quiet and dim. Although I admired the serenity, I couldn’t help but wonder why it wasn’t pretty and colourful. We sat there like that admiring the sunrise for a good 20 minutes before the sun actually started to rise… It made more sense then.

Everyone knows that everything (except for me) looks that much prettier in the early morning light. Our drive along the East Coast could not have been a better example (of things being pretty and me not so much):

The East Coast of Barbados sits comfortably between unspoiled green hills and the roaring Atlantic Ocean, far away from the hotels, wi-fi hotspots and hagglers of the South and West Coasts. Tourists will come to the island time and time again without ever seeing the true essence of Barbadian beauty found on the East. It’s underrated, untouched and undoubtedly one of my favourite parts of this rock.

I couldn’t help but notice on our two hour drive around nowhere thatit’s funny how, with lovely lighting and the right person, you can drive the same roads you’ve driven time and time again but see them for the very first time.

I’m a sucker for illustrations

Here’s my 5-10am Saturday drive. We almost made it around the whole thing didn’t we? Next time. The moon was our fake sunrise, the sun the real one and the pink spots all the other places we spent our time.

So if my little popsicle stick could make me do all of these shananigans before 10AM – what could yours do? If you’re lazy, procrastinate and prefer to watch Pawn Stars all day than to actually leave your bed butyou dream of someday actually doing something somewhere outside then you should probably go get some popsicle sticks (and then become my BFF because you’re me).